


Chatter

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 13:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4667459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gandalf knows amusement Thorin doesn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chatter

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “The Rivendell Elves seemed to have a habit of talking in hushed whispers around Thorin all the bloody time, and he was pretty sure he caught an eyebrow being raised in his general direction a moment or two. All the poorly-hidden attention pokes at Thorin's suspicious nature, and he thinks it's coming from somewhere malicious and possibly racist, so he gets crankier and more pissed off as time goes by, despite the wonderful accommodations offered to him and his company. Gandalf is extremely amused by all of this, mostly because the attention was of an "I'd tap that" nature than anything remotely close to what Thorin was thinking. But since Thorin was too stubborn to even ask, Gandalf wasn't about to volunteer that information” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/8973.html?thread=19091981#t19091981).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s a beautiful day, as most are in Rivendell, and it puts the hope back in Gandalf that perhaps all of this wild plotting and prodding could very well work out. His only trouble as of now is the stubbornness of dwarves, Thorin worst of all. The first thing Gandalf needs to do this morning—after a longer-than-expected catch-up session with Glorfindel—is hammer home to that stubborn dwarf the importance of making allies, especially those that can read old, secretive maps. 

Thorin isn’t in his quarters, which leads Gandalf to seek him out. This is the one place he doesn’t mind searching, as it’s full of old friends and smiling faces and lilting songs in the air, and now the odd dwarf curiously poking at oddities. It’s all joyously pleasant despite the storm cloud that seems to follow Thorin Oakenshield about, and by the time Gandalf spots Lindir down the end of a corridor, he’s feeling rather hopeful about dispelling that cloud. Lindir will certainly know where Thorin is, as taking care of guests is one of his primary duties. He’s facing Gandalf but distracted, talking to two elves whose backs face Gandalf, but he guesses them quickly enough: Elladan and Elrohir. The three of them are speaking in their native tongue and occasionally glancing out to their left, doubtless at another scenic balcony. 

Some of Gandalf’s language skills are a tad rusty, but they come rushing back in this fair place, and he catches more and more of their speech as he approaches them. The words bring an even wider smile to his face. Lindir murmurs, “He is quite rugged. He would need a bath, I suppose, but I think I would enjoy bathing him.”

“A waste,” Elladan responds. “His gruffness is part of his charm. It is exotic. Skipping straight to rough, hard sex would better utilize his appeal.”

“I agree with Lindir,” Elrohir muses. “He would perhaps look more handsome without the beard, but then, I suppose, he would not look so...”

“Dwarven?” Elladan suggests.

Lindir idly sighs, “He has such broad shoulders.” 

Elladan clicks his tongue and looks sideways, out at the balcony beside them. “I imagine he would be an _animal_ in bed...”

Lindir opens his mouth, but he doesn’t get his words out. He spots Gandalf just as Gandalf stops before them, earning a smile from Elrond’s sons and a respectful dip of the head from Lindir. A soft blush dusts Lindir’s cheeks, but he covers it quickly and asks, “May I help you, Mithrandir?”

“I was looking for Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf replies, though he knows his answer even before Lindir provides it, gesturing out towards the balcony. Thorin’s several meters away, leaning on the white railing with his back to them, his posture as grumpy as ever. Even for all the flowers around him and the beauty of the mountains, he’s still _Thorin_. Gandalf smiles his gratitude, and Lindir bows deeper before sweeping off. Elladan and Elrohir linger only a moment before following. 

Gandalf walks swiftly to the balcony, fighting off his chuckles. He’s come across a surprising number of similar conversations since their arrival, none of which were particularly covert, but all in a language Thorin can’t understand. When Gandalf reaches the rail, Thorin glances sideways at him, scowling deeply. 

“Are they still there?” he growls, nodding his head back but not looking. Gandalf lifts an eyebrow. 

“If you mean the home behind you,” Gandalf starts, “then yes: no elf has moved out on your account. If you mean the immediate vicinity, you are quite as far away from any elf as you have any right to be.”

Thorin doesn’t look pleased at Gandalf’s roundabout answer, but it’s all he deserves. Before Gandalf can even mention the map, Thorin grumbles, “They’ve been following me all morning.”

“Lindir?” Gandalf asks, finding it difficult to believe that Lindir’s been absent from Elrond’s side that long. He doesn’t imagine Thorin’s bothered to learn Elladan and Elrohir’s names yet, if he’s even been introduced at all.

“All of them,” Thorin hisses, gesturing a vague hand. “They look at me and laugh to one another in Elvish right in front of me! Some have even had the nerve to point!”

“Perhaps—” Gandalf starts, but Thorin rolls right on. 

“It’s rude, and it’s beyond that! They accuse Dwarves of poor hospitality, and look at how they react to a different people? Are they so terrible to those not of their own kind? I knew all along they were, and you brought us here anyway, and it’s proven everything I thought. They’re as malicious as they always were. They’re full of their own secrets, and worse, they flaunt that private knowledge. They can’t be trusted.” Thorin stops his tirade only to turn a fiery gaze to Gandalf, hissing, “I want _out of here._ ”

For a moment, Gandalf’s quiet. He’d considered informing Thorin of the truth—that most of these whispers are only admiration of a king dwarves very much appreciate—but Thorin seems insistent on being difficult. He knows Gandalf can understand them, and yet he doesn’t even ask. 

And Gandalf rewards him for it by briskly deciding, “That is rather unfortunate for you, as I have already arranged for us to stay another night.”

Thorin opens his mouth, glaring, and Gandalf simply lifts a hand to silence him, casually finishing: “I have also decided that we will speak with Elrond of the map even if I have to drag you there myself by your ear. If only to save yourself the humiliation, I trust you will have calmed yourself down for it by after supper. Now, as our dear burglar—whom you still owe me for, as a matter of fact—would say, good morning.”

Then Gandalf turns before Thorin can say a word, marching off to find someone who has some sense to talk to.


End file.
